


hear the children sing, they cry murder

by cesellia



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pre-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesellia/pseuds/cesellia
Summary: Kray wanted to create the perfect weapon out of Lio.
Relationships: Kray Foresight/Lio Fotia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	hear the children sing, they cry murder

**Author's Note:**

> *slams fists on to the table* o k a y 
> 
> this was so incredibly stressful and infuriating to make, for one since i don't necessarily write violence often, and for second i've never written for promare before so i literally have no idea what i am doing b u t anyways, tags say non-con and while it never actually goes into detail about it, there is some talking of it going on 
> 
> title from ulver's rolling stone
> 
> please enjoy !!!

The dim yellow light in his cell flickered on as the heavy metal door opened.

“Get up,” the guard sneered, “Kray wants a meeting with you.”

_Meeting_. Lio’s bones twisted into each other. He hasn’t had the _pleasure_ to sit down with Kray in his personal office space in well over a month, giving the bruises and fractured bones enough time to heal themselves and he had started to miss their week-long private sessions together—every minute Lio spent allowing Kray to inject poisons into his veins and use his body as his own medical doll, a Burnish did not have to go through the same thing.

“Why should I?” Lio rolled over on his side to face the guard, his ribs pressing uncomfortably into the metal ground, “If he wants to see me so bad, why doesn’t he come down here himself?”

The guard let out a heavy, annoyed growl before approaching him—the loud stomping of his boots against the floor alerting Lio of what was going to come next and he braced for the worse.

“My orders are to bring you to Kray alive,” the guard said, gripping on to his hair to pull him on to his feet before connecting his padded knee to Lio's chest—sending him back on to the ground, coughing, “But they say nothing on what condition you need to be in.”

Lio brought himself back on to his feet, ignoring the cracking of his bones in protests—his ribs aching in a way that could only mean they had been broken (not that it concerned him any, ribs breaking had become the norm and he could handle much more abuse than that).

“Do what you wish,” Lio choked back a cough, “It's not as if _you_ could harm me more than what a paper cut could.”

The guard snarled at his insult and clasped his hands around Lio's throat—his thumbs pressing deep on to his trachea to keep him from breathing as he spoke, “Don't think I can't see straight through you, boy,” the guard's lips pressed into a thin line as he loosened his grip, “Your tactics have become predictable, and since you are determined to delay the inevitable, you are meeting Kray. _Now_.”

The elevator hummed as they ascended to Kray’s office—lights of blue and purple and red flashing by as they passed through each level, complete darkness in between from aside a small red panel above the door reading what floor they were on— _2nd Floor._

Lio tried to rub his wrists—bloodied from the handcuffs digging too far into his skin—together, naively hoping that his flames would awaken to heal his newly acquired wounds. But he knew it wouldn't work, from the forced intake of drugs every morning to the days of denied food, the Promare had been left dormant for several weeks now—and it left his body aching in ice.

Without the flame running through his bloodstream, there was nothing to protect him against the blistering cold temperatures of the prison cells—nights spent curled up in a corner of the cell ground, desperately attempting to create heat from wooden utensils he had stolen off a guard to be able to at least feel _something_ , but he never did. The flames created were minuscule and the Promare kept screaming for _more_ and _more_ until it started eating away at him.

It was tolerable at first when Meis and Gueira were with him; they hadn't been put on any heavy suppressants as he had, and they were able to keep a small flame burning for Lio to keep him from wasting away as many other Burnish had, but then Kray ordered for him to be moved to an isolation cell far away from the others, and then he had to rely on the boiling hot showers to keep him sane, the water sharp as knives that left his skin bloody and peeling away at the touch.

The elevator screeched to a stop on the thirtieth floor.

With a push of the guard's gun against his back, Lio stepped forward into Kray's office—the floor-to-ceiling windows giving him a perfect view of the sun setting over Promepolis; the room almost entirely empty, save for a desk and a small sitting area accompanied by a fireplace, the flames large and _starving_ for Lio to consume them.

Kray stood facing the window, his eyes locked on Lio's reflection as he approached—a shitty grin plastered on his face as he spoke, “Took a rough beating, I see?” he looked past him at the guard and waved his hand, “Dismissed.”

Lio stood completely still as the guard left the office, the elevator letting out a soft _ding!_ before descending. His heart had begun racing when he entered, not because he was scared (he would never admit even to himself that he could feel fear, doing so would be a humiliation to everything he had ever done to protect the Burnish) but because the fire in the corner of the room was growing _louder_ and the Promare was tearing away at his chest to be fed.

“A damn shame he started without me, I would have loved to have been the first one to punch such a _powerful_ Burnish leader,” Kray said as he turned to face him, narrowing his eyebrows and widening his grin at Lio's paling face, “But not so powerful anymore, I assume?”

“Want to test that theory and let me out of these handcuffs?” Lio snarled, “Unchain me and I'll kill you.”

“I'm sure you will,” Kray chuckle as he walked passed him to his desk to pull something out from a drawer, “The other Burnish I put on the suppressants have all but died from hypothermia,” he turned towards Lio, holding a small syringe between his fingers, “All but you. Interesting, isn't it? I would love to _tear you open_ and find what makes you more special than everyone else.”

“ _You bastard,_ ” Lio struggled in the handcuffs, fresh blood seeping through the dried wounds and staining on to the marble floor—his heart picked up more; his head was spinning fast, too fast and it was making him nauseous; he needed to sit, but to sit meant to give Kray the upper hand which he couldn't afford to do; the screams got louder, the flames were mocking him as he stood there, _powerless_ against a man that held his people's lives hostage, “I'll tear you apart; I'll melt away that disgusting flesh of yours until you've felt all the pain you've put those Burnish through.”

“Strong words coming from a _Burnish_ who can't _burn_ ,” Kray slipped the syringe into his coat pocket and walked to Lio's side, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other gripped around his waist, “And would you look at that, you've lost weight since I last saw you,” he brought his lips against Lio's ear—his hot breath trickling against his neck—, “Good boy.”

Kray pressed his hands into his skin and felt every bone that screamed and jerked away from his touch, and humiliation crept up Lio's spine for how _easy_ it was for the older man to take ahold of him. He was weak without his flames; he was weak physically even with the flames, but now there was only one way to keep Kray's attention focused on him and it made his breathing hitch and lungs close up. It was _pathetic_.

“Do not _touch me._ ” Lio raised his leg and shoved the heel of his boot into Kray's knee; taking advantage of his loosened grip, he pushed himself away from him and, ignoring his collapsing lungs, raced for the fireplace—their screaming bleeding through his ears so he could hear nothing but _them_.

Lio dropped to his knees and pressed his hands into the fire, the ice encapsulating his lungs melting away and the Promare turning their screaming into crying, _Burn. Burn everything in your path._

The fire rose to wrap itself around his body, the healing of his wounds and the melting of the ice around his heart so soothing that Lio hadn't realised the tears falling freely down his cheek. It had been so long since the flames danced and moved effortlessly in his bloodstream that the world around him disappeared into nothing, his only concern was feeding the eager Promare.

The handcuffs fell from his wrists, and the clacking of them against the marble floor pulled reality back in—the sun reflecting off a building and straining his eyes and the air conditioning system kicking on somewhere in the office—and Lio became alert of his surroundings, jumping to his feet and darting his eyes from one side of the room to the other to find where Kray had vanished to.

“Where the hell are you?” Lio yelled out, his fists glowing of purple and blue flames, “Come out and _let me kill—_ ”

A sharp pain shot through Lio's neck and down his spine, his throat closing up and legs collapsing on to the floor.

“Do you ever stop yelling?” Kray called out from behind him, grabbing Lio by his collar to pull him up to eye level with him, his feet far off the ground and him coughing and struggling to breathe, “A Burnish's primal instinct to search out flames even when they are hunted,” Kray grimaced at the sight of Lio flailing his legs and trying to burn his way out of his grip, “How disgusting.”

Kray released him from his grasp, letting him fall roughly on to the ground. Lio made no attempt to get back up—or rather—his legs wouldn't respond to his commands. His vision grew dark, the light of the sun having left him and the only thing he could see was Kray's indifferent expression as he stared down at him like a circus manager looking at an animal that had grown too old to continue performing the tricks they had spent years perfecting.

_This is the wrath of Kray Foresight,_ a Burnish had told him once, their eyes having been burnt out of the sockets and the skin of their limbs melted off, leaving only the bone to show, _We can’t stop him._

“Based on the results of the suppressant I had you on last month, I am putting you on a more extreme version of the drug and examining your brain _closely_ in this run-through. Then, in the case you survive,” Kray explained as the elevator door opened and two armed guards stepped in, “You are going to watch the Burnish die.”

Blaring white lights forced Lio awake, his arms and legs bound to the sides of the operating table and his mouth sealed shut with a piece of metal.

His body was on fire, using every bit of strength he had to try and free himself from the shackles, but its grip on him only tightened the more he struggled and screamed.

The Promare had fallen silent, only raising their voices to let out small whimpers when the temperature began to decrease. Now, with their voices relinquished and leaving him completely alone with the silence, his head was throbbing in pain, like nails being drilled deep into the brain.

The door slid open, and Lio rolled his head over to look at who entered—Kray, wearing that shit-eating grin he always had on, holding a large, blood-coloured syringe in his hands.

“Apologies for restraints,” Kray spoke, placing his hand against Lio's forehead and chuckling at the cold he was met with, “You gave the doctors a lot of trouble earlier this week, nearly burnt their heads off.”

Kray grabbed Lio's wrist—now seeing the many needle pricks in his forearm and realising that he had been unconscious for at least a few days—and pressed the syringe into his vein, blood turning ice-cold as the drug traveled further into his body and leaving him so painfully numb that he almost didn't realise the restraints being taken off of him.

“ _Asshole_ ,” Lio snapped as he began to rise up on the table before letting out a sharp gasp at the sudden pain that surged through his body; he looked down at the source of the pain—his abdomen, bloodied and poorly stitched together, “What the hell did you do to me?”

“A few simple incisions,” Kray answered, taking out a cigarette from his pocket and placing it between his lips before lighting it, “The doctors want before and after photos of your organs after the suppressants kill you—Don't look at me like that, it's not anything worse than what the other Burnish are being put through. In fact, I've personally witnessed many go through much _worse_ than what you are currently being tested with—”

Lio connected his fist to Kray's jaw; however, from the drug’s after-effects, it did little to no damage, but it kept him quiet long enough for him to speak, “Stop...experimenting on them,” he bit his cheek as he forced himself up, “I've survived every trial you've put me on so far, I can handle a few more added experiments.”

Seeing that Kray's expression hadn't changed, Lio dipped his head and sighed, cursing himself under his breath before continuing, “The first night you captured us...you said you wanted to create the perfect weapon,” he brought his hand up against Kray's chest, “ _Make me that weapon._ ”

A cold breeze ran through Lio's body as he waited for Kray's response, jumping unexpectedly when he felt his hand grasp his shoulder and his cool voice speak, “You are that willing to destroy yourself in order to keep those Burnish in prison alive a little longer? I admire your selflessness, Lio,” Kray flicked the cigarette into the trash and pulled off his overcoat and tossed it on to a chair, “Very well. Until your death comes, I'll have it your way. You remember how I like you, correct?”

How could he forget? Lio had spent more months than he could count diverging Kray's attention away from the others by letting him use his body the way he saw fit—often in the form of touching him in the places no one would ever dare touch him, trying to find his breaking point and leave him a hollow shell of a person.

(Kray believed he had yet to find that breaking point, but in truth, he already has. He broke him the first night he ever laid his hands on Lio, but it never became noticeable until he was far away in the desert for anyone who was there to see him—his mind often numb and his body littered in scratches from his attempts to try and tear away the skin he had touched. No one, not even the Mad Burnish, knew of the extensive pain he had put himself through to try and erase what had been done to him.)

Lio stripped off the clothes that remained and threw them without care on the floor below, the feeling of his bare skin against the cold metal table nearly unbearable for him as he held out his hand for Kray, a wash of fear coming over him as the drugs began taking effect in his mind and as his eyes caught sight of the scalpel in Kray's hand.

“Not going to back out, are we?” Kray asked, brushing the blade up and down Lio's arm with a butterfly's gentleness, a sickening one that made Lio want to drive it deep into his skin—at least then there would be pain to serve as the reminder for why he agreed to this.

Sex with him hurt more than it did with other people—with them, he was permitted to cry out, to let Meis and Gueira hold him after and whisper _we're so sorry we didn't get there in time_. But with Kray, he wasn't allowed to—this was a righteous act that would ease the sufferings of Burnish, to back out would be to betray the trust of hundreds.

The room swayed from side to side, Kray in his vision appearing in doubles. A hand ran up from Lio's leg and to between his thighs; the hand warm when touching but leaving his body feeling like icicles once it moved.

Lio searched out for Kray's hand that held the scalpel and spoke in a slurred, drugged voice, “You know that I can't refuse you,” he found the hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles as he forced the scalpel into the base of his shoulder—his lips bleeding from pushing back a scream—, “So ruin me the way you see fit, break me apart,” he pulled the scalpel out of his shoulder, “And piece me back together in a new arrangement, _make this weapon yours._ ”

Screams echoed through Lio's hollow bones and begged for mercy as they were ripped apart one by one, emptying Lio's body to leave only of what Kray had sought ownership over—scarred delicate skin and the fire that buried itself deep within the depths of his heart.

By the end of it, the operating table and the surrounding floor became stained with blood and the evidence of pleasure that was neither of theirs to have.

Kray left him the way he was, not bothering to offer him any material to make himself presentable with, and in fact, he had shown him off to the doctors. Their whispers seeped into his head, _Look how pathetic that Mad Burnish is, it was almost too easy to break him._

If it wasn’t for the drugs, he would’ve been humiliated by their stares and snide remarks, but what was left of his consciousness was hollow and too empty to care of what they said.

Lio was sharpened by Kray to be the perfect sword—sharpened by the skinning of his body and the overdose after overdose—, a sword that would cut through any man to touch it.

Burnish escaped from the prison, but Lio did not join them—he was a sword that couldn't kill, but rather slowly snip away at the wielder's body, making them _wish_ they had died. As long as the Burnish were being hunted, Lio would stay by Kray's side and accept every drug and every beating so that they might have the chance of survival.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on my twitter and encourage my obsession with hurting lio [here](https://mobile.twitter.com/lyilenor)


End file.
